


Child

by beaubete



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Spanking, and maybe he'll get it, smutty but not smut, the one where James Bond asks for trouble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:24:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaubete/pseuds/beaubete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Q makes a dangerous mistake, Bond decides he's had enough and turns him over his knee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Child

**Author's Note:**

> Another random prompt from one of the Bond kink memes; this one's not in the same 'verse as the others. May read a touch dub-con, so please proceed with caution.

“I’m not a child,” Q hisses, arm caught in Bond’s grip as he’s dragged away toward the prototype halls.  ”R-2, code 3 security breach.  If I’m not back within the hour, have Mr. Bond terminated.”  R-2’s face is paper white; Bond has Q out the door before he can see whether the man initiates the protocol.  Not that an hour would help him if Bond is up to something.  Frission sparks across his skin as he turns to the agent, snarling.  ”Just what the hell do you think you mean—”

“Me?  What do I mean?  Why don’t you explain to me why I had to extricate myself from that black widow’s nest because you were too busy being a prude to do your damned job?” Bond snaps.

“Excuse me for not caring to listen to the James Bond Sex Show again!  The situation seemed safe enough; I felt you could take care of yourself for ten seconds.”

“God,” Bond scoffs, running a hand through his hair.  ”You really are a child.  What, was it nap time?”  The way he says it sets Q’s teeth on edge.  

“So your honeypot scheme didn’t work.  The one time out of literally thousands where you approach a mission crotch-first and your bits come back a bit singed—”

“You think this maneuver was about my bits?” Bond demands breathlessly, a wry chuckle under his words.  ”What about the fact that we may very well have solved this issue with Quantum once and for all?  I know you’ve no idea who Quantum is—bit before your time and that—but—no.  I just—no.”

“Your priority was the documents, Double-oh-Seven.  Not hunting down imaginary terrorist organizations or getting your end in,” Q responds tartly.

“Getting my—”  Bond laughs once, sharp and bitter, and throws open the nearest door.  Room 4, rubber explosives and plasticines; Q shivers away from the crates by the wall, but Bond only pulls him over to the desk in the corner.  ”I don’t expect you to understand.  How could you?”

“Another age joke, Double-oh—”  Q is cut off as Bond slings him over the edge of the desk.

“You are.  You’re a jealous, petty child, and all you’re interested in is showing Daddy you’ve been such a very good boy,” Bond whispers harsh in his ear, voice smooth and fine and hot as whisky.  ”And you figured if I was going to go off-mission, I could damned well take care of myself, is that it?”

“Don’t be absur—”  The first snap of Bond’s hand against Q’s rear is loud, crackling in the room sudden and sharp like something broken.

“Or maybe not,” Bond admits, curling his fingers over the edge of Q’s collarbone from behind to keep his squirming shoulders in place.

“Have you lost your mind?” Q demands.

“But you think it’s unnecessary.  You think that sex is unnecessary,” Bond continues as if Q hasn’t spoken, another swat landing securely enough that Q’s whole frame jolts, but he doesn’t cry out.

“I don’t see it as the most effective tool in your repertoire, no,” Q responds drolly.  His face is pressed into the table top; his glasses leave creased lines on his face.  Bond spanks him again.  His lashes flutter.

“That’s not your call to make,” Bond scolds.  ”It’s mine, and I expect you to be there and support me, personal opinions aside.”

“And that includes yet another round of ‘Oh!  James, yes, James!’?”  Q gets another swat for his cheek, and Bond’s hand is starting to smart now.  Running his hand over the fat of Q’s arse reveals startling heat, and Q hisses, blinking into his glasses.  ”While you make snide remarks about your own sexual prowess,” Q continues, and Bond gives him another slap, this one thick and fulsome, enough to lift him onto his toes.

“Most of those women are dead now,” Bond says reproachfully.

“Whose fault is that?”  Bond is silent.  ”I’m sorry, okay?  I shouldn’t have turned the radio off,” Q confesses, lips wet against the tabletop.

Bond gives him one more to remember and pulls away, fingertips already missing the sharp edge of Q’s bones.  He steps back, plucking out his pocket square to offer; Q polishes his glasses, but his eyes are dry.  ”You try that again and I’ll have you court martialed.”

“Will you.”  Bond glances pointedly at the tent in Q’s slacks.  Q makes no move to hide it.

“You’ll just have to try it and find out.”


End file.
